Reflection of Age
A mystical pool of magic and time
Hides behind dreamy ferns
And the power that is so sublime
Is the pool, to be concerned.
I walk over in red silk slippers
Gazing right at the rippling pool
Pebbles wide as dolphin flippers
Make memories of childhood and school.
I see princesses and ballerinas waltzing across
Halls and rose vine-entangled ballrooms
The sound of hymns in the way of the cross
A bored child snoring in a classroom.
And slowly do the slippers in the pool shrink
Into polished black leather shoes
And I see a dress, my uniform, I think
Alabaster with stripes of mint hues.
Soda pops and I believe it to be
A dark green kindergarten graduation hat
Look more closely and I see
My fetish and obsession with cats.
Then my black school shoes grow
Into two fountain pens I love
I see my writing book black as a crow
And my muse, my inspiration: a dove.
Soon there’s a clouding of mist and toxic smoke alike
And my pens become a vine of thorny roses
My hands bleed and seep scarlet blood from the spikes
The vines are blocking my nose.
Soon the pens appear again entwined
In the intricate netting of floral work
I grab my pen in the pool and draw a sign
And it destroys the network.
My fountain pens have morphed into a pen and pad
And the roses have gone to rest
It’s telling me to start anew with no bad
And obviously make the best.
And at last I see myself slouching at night
On my marble floor slash workplace
A single tear drips in my sight
How I have misused my age.
And when I open my cedar shoe cabinet
And stare at the empty space
My red silk slippers are nowhere
So are my school shoes with socks and lace.